


The Wysterian Records: Journal #1

by GoldenSpindle



Series: The Wysterian Records [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blackreach, Clockwork Castle mod, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Dawnstar - Freeform, Diary/Journal, Forgotten City Mod, Gen, Heavy Angst, Inspired by Skyrim, Modded Skyrim, Multiple Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Murder, Necromancy, Nightmares, Originally meant for my eyes only but it's kind of cool so it's here now, Psijic Order, Some stuff from the ES IV: Oblivion timeline but mainly set in ES V: Skyrim, Summerset Isles, Time Travel, Tragedy, Undeath Mod, altered timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenSpindle/pseuds/GoldenSpindle
Summary: The recordings of an Altmer named Wysteria and her journeys through the land of Skyrim. Having time-traveled from the fallout of the Oblivion Crisis at the beginning of the Fourth Era to a new threat nearly 200 years later, she finds her place in this new age -- or not.//While the story takes place during the events of Skyrim, not all events are canon to the lore. The story also depicts multiple story mods; the Clockwork Castle by Antistar, The Forgotten City by Nick Pearce, and Undeath by Antioch08. All inspiration and credits go to Bethesda and the mod creators :)





	1. Entry #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the Wysterian Records. If there is ever an occurrence in which the content may be particularly sensitive, I will place the appropriate warnings at the beginning of the chapter. If there is something you deem needs a warning that I do not mention, please let me know. Thank you.

The Wysterian Records

Journal #1

* * *

_#1_

   All has descended into deep silence.

   The Scroll is gone, and the shouts of mages and guards has dissipated along with any remnant of warmth left in my decrepit person. My mind still turns in confusion; the events most recently past are incomprehensible. A moment ago, all was chaos, the din of assault nearing closer every breath, but now...nothing. Calm. I may be ignorant on metaphysical record-keeping, but surely an Elder Scroll could not cause such an occurrence...yes?

   I’m still in the dwemer hut, thank the Eight, but the appearance has changed dramatically. The appearance I am able to see, at least — the only light comes from a Nirnroot in a curious shade of crimson. The scarlet illuminates a wide variety of alchemical ingredients atop the shelves as well as a few weathered books on the subject of various reagents. A bit beyond the glow, a figure lies on the ground. A skeleton, much to my astonishment, with two arrows jutting from the ribs. I do not understand how this has come to be, as there was not a person, living or dead, in here previously, and certainly not one so long-rotted as to have no flesh.

   A notebook lies beside the bones, however: another item not here before. Perhaps, if I can read it, I will find answers. _If_  being the true statement here, as I’m having difficulty writing even now. It’s as if there is an obstruction toward the left side of my vision.

-

   How can this be?  The notebook is signed by Sinderion; I knew this mer, and while he mentioned a trek to Blackreach in the past, I never knew him to come down during my time hidden here. The journal also dates to a time past the current year, instead dating earliest at 4E 58, nearly 50 years from now!

   Perhaps...it seems impossible, but it may be that through opening the Scroll, I was transported into a different time. It would explain the sudden turn of events as well as the future dates of the journal and the corpse of my acquaintance that has long-rotted. It could also account for my missing items; besides my robes and this journal, nothing remains.

   I do have to consider how ridiculous this all sounds. I’ve been yearning for an escape for decades now, but this seems too simple to be true. I won’t know what has happened until I go out into civilization, but if I am in the same time as before, I will certainly be murdered on sight. It’s a risk I’ll have to take; I cannot hide in here forever.

   I’ll venture out as soon as I gather my bearings and attempt to become situated to my, ah, situation. It will be difficult to defend myself if need be, as the magic coursing through my body runs weak, and my vision still obstructed.  This does not surprise me, as I did place much of my will into escaping my tormented fate. I can only pray it has succeeded.

 


	2. Entries #2-5

_#2_

   My venture is not...proceeding too well.  The moment I opened the door, a Dwemer creation punctured me in the side, opening a deep wound.  My attempt to summon an Atronach to destroy the infernal device failed; my mind seared with pain when I tried to bring forth the knowledge of my old Conjuration spells. The only thing I could do was manifest a ward long enough to run and hide behind a large structure. It seems almost all of my power has left me; the only things brought forth are a small fire spell, a weak ward, and enough healing to at least close my wound. For my preferred school of magic, I can only conjure a Familiar. Hopefully some of my power will return once I am able to rest.

   While uncertain of what has occured, this lack of magic may also be a result of the Scroll. If my thoughts are correct and this is a different time, perhaps the cost of travel was an extraction of power. A new beginning. What a nice thought that is: a true escape from a tormented fate.

   I’m going to continue on and fight my way to the Mzark Tower, as I recall a secret exit from there. I am quite weak at the moment — one blow from the automaton sapped the rest of my strength— but I have various potions from Sinderion’s hut, so with any blessing, it shall be enough to escape.  

 

_#3_

   I reached the tower within an inch of my life. More animunculi and Falmer abound than I previously recall, and all are hostile. I’m unsure why every rachid creature in this expanse desires to kill me, even the typically-dormant automatons. I scorched one of the savage elves and took the armor from its backside,  but besides this one victory, I sprinted to the tower without a breath to spare. My heart beats in an alarmingly rapid manner, but I did survive. I’m alive, and now reside in the Scroll’s old resting place.

   The resting place which also lends itself to oddity. I distinctly recall the lockbox remaining open, stuck in this position after I forced a summoned Dwemer to open it with his lexicon, but now it is shut as tightly as before. Did the Scroll resume its position upon use? Surely not, but I no longer have the magicka to perform my previous act and once more open the sphere. In hindsight, it feels sinful to have opened it to begin with, but no matter now. What's done is done.

   There’s a lever hidden somewhere within this tower, and once I find it, I shall be free of this self-inflicted prison. After this, there will surely be a nearby village to recuperate in.

 

_#4_

   As expected, rising out of Blackreach led to a greeting of a blizzard; at least this armor keeps me warm. No village has manifested thus far, but I do sight a flag in the distance, one I cannot yet see clearly, as my vision still fails me. There will be no rest until I reach this location. I must travel to safety before gathering my thoughts.

 

_#5_

   The flag marked the hold of The Pale, meaning I ventured in the right direction. The next day and night caused me much hardship. Thank the Divines I had spellfire to warm me and a familiar to ward off curious beasts during the night; without this, the snow would have been my final resting place. After some time, I finally reached the capitol: Dawnstar.

   Dawnstar is frigid and dreary, but the inn only cost 10 septims, and I have a modest amount of gold after selling some of Sinderion’s gems to the local merchant. There is an alchemy station and plenty of drink along with the warmth of a fire — what more could I wish for? Jests aside, I should be able to rest here for some time.

   It also seems that no one recognizes me, though I do receive some stares from the patrons due to my appearance. The obstruction in my vision is not likely to go away; upon seeing my haggard reflection, I noticed my left eye is clouded over as thick as the snow on the ground. Suppose I’m fortunate enough to have not gone completely blind. The white eye along with my tall stature will only raise questions in the  Nords; I’m certain they don’t receive such odd Altmer visitors. I don’t mind questions, but I shan’t give many answers, except for my name—maybe I’ll change it again. Or not; I do enjoy Wysteria, and it has become such a part of me at this time that it may pain me to be rid of it now.

   For now, I rest. I should be able to work on some potions and spells during my stay, as well as gain some information from the people here. Some idle chat may do well to give context to my situation.  


End file.
